Tales from the Operas. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ yes, I weep for thee—for her.”

      “For me! for her! Indeed, I think already that I love thee dearly.”

      “Oh! ever love thy mother, youth; cling to her with all thy soul. Never think ill of her when thou dost doubt most strongly; think ever how she loves thee, and pity her, and hope that she may one day press thee to her heart.”

      “Ah! lady, no need hast thou to teach me this! I see her near me always—gentle, loving, pure; she is my guardian angel. When I would do ill, she comes upon me in my dreams, and smiles a welcome to me.”

      “I hear footsteps, I must leave thee.”

      “Why shouldst thou tremble?”

      ’Twas Orsini and the friends coming to seek for Gennaro. The youth Maffio, seeing a lady near his friend, ran gaily forward to them; but within a few paces, and just as the lady was rising her mask to her face, he saw her—saw her, to start and turn pale, brave as he was; saw her, to call on Heaven, and ask himself her name.

      He ran back to his companions, uttered but two words, and each man was amazed. One laid his hand upon the spot where his dagger would have been, but that at fêtes all arms were rendered at the door. Another placed his hand upon his mouth and gazed in horror.

      “Gennaro,” whispered the unknown lady, “I must leave thee.”

      “Yet deign to tell who thou art?”

      “One whose life is loving thee.”

      “Thy name!”

      “I will reveal it,” cried Orsini, coming forward, and speaking savagely, unmercifully.

      As the woman heard these words, and recognized the voice, she flinched, and strove to run from the place.

      But they stopped her; each way she made a step, on each side stood a stern, unyielding man. They stood about her, yet not near her.

      “Gennaro, Gennaro; help!”

      “Signors!” cried the youth, “what wouldst thou? This lady I protect; he that insults her is my friend no longer.”

      “We would wish to tell the lady who we are, and tell thee who she is,” cried they earnestly, and yet with something of mockery in their tones, “then she may go; we shall have no wish to keep her with us.”

      “I, for one, am that Maffio Orsini, whose brother you murdered as he slept.”

      “And I, I am that man whose aged uncle you destroyed on his threshold.”

      “While I, fair lady, am the nephew of one who died quaffing your wine.”

      “I, Petruci, O lady, am cousin to him whose dominions you stole.”

      “And I was the friend of the man, who sleeps, by your will, beneath the Tiber.”

      Hopeless all her appeals, hopeless that she falls on her knees before them. Each strikes the air with his arm as he addresses her; not one feels pity.

      “Who, then, is this woman?” said Gennaro; “dare I hear?”

      “Gennaro, do not believe them; they mistake me.”

      “Oh! no mistake, lady,” cried out Orsini; “remove thy mask. She is the woman who hath shamed all women; she is the woman whom all ages shall abhor; whose breath is poison, whose look is death, whom Heaven pities too much to destroy.”

      “Spare me! spare me!”

      “As thou hast spared.”

      “Be merciful; there is yet time. Gennaro, see, I cling to thee; forbid them. Be merciful, signors! spare me!”

      “As thou hast spared.”

      Then the Orsini tore the mask from her face.

      “Behold her—Lucrezia Borgia.”

      What! is this the gentle face that wept over the sleeping youth? Look on it! like a demon’s as she springs from her knees—defiant, fearless, no longer suppliant; degraded, but not shamed. “Beware!” she cries, as the gentlemen shun her, turning away from her—as Gennaro turns from her. “Beware, you who have shown no mercy! beware!”

CHAPTER II.

       Table of Contents

      In Ferrara. No longer in the city of waters, and palaces, and gay feastings. In Ferrara, where the Borgias reign. Where the cruel Duke Alfonzo reigns, where also his cruel wife is Duchess, the terrible Lucrezia Borgia.

      See, in this grand square, there is the palace of the duke. Mark his arms carved over the gateway, the awful name Borgia swelling from the stone beneath.

      The new Venetian ambassador with his suite had arrived.

      It is night-time, and plot and murder are awake.

      Look! is not this the figure of the tall, proud-looking man who watched the Borgia from a gondola in Venice. And the man with him, ’tis he who told of Gennaro.

      They are walking slowly across the square.

      “So, then, he has arrived in the ambassador’s suite.”

      “Surely; I have been his shadow. That house is his abode.”

      “Ah, she would fain have him near the palace.”

      “And in it, Signor, if Gubetta speaks the truth.”

      “It shall be his tomb.”

      “The Signor hears that music, ’tis from his house. The youth makes merry with his friends. ’Tis just the same each night, they only sleep at dawn.”

      “Let him take a long farewell of them, ’tis the last time they shall carouse with him.”

      With angry strides he went up to the ducal house. No need to knock. Too secret-loving was this man for that. Slowly a small door opened, and he and his companion entered.

      Far different from these two gloomy men were the half dozen laughing youths who now came trooping away from Gennaro’s wine cups. He came from the house with them, willing as host to show he did not love to part with them.

      “Good bye, good bye, dear friends.”

      “Good bye Gennaro,” cried the others; and Orsini added, “Thou hast the gravest face amongst us, thou art ever sad.”

      “No, no.” But, truth to tell, his thoughts were ever with his unknown mother.

      “Now I tell thee that this night thou shalt be gay. The Princess Negroni gives a ball to-night, where a thousand beauties shall be found, and thou must come, Gennaro. And if any one of you be not invited, СКАЧАТЬ